


Brick by Brick

by theclaravoyant



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Apologies, Apologising for Ableism, F/M, Gen, Simmons-centric, learning from Ableism, or a variation thereof, the Discussion that Never Was
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-25
Updated: 2016-06-25
Packaged: 2018-07-18 03:18:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7297345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theclaravoyant/pseuds/theclaravoyant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After accidentally offending Fitz, Simmons seeks him out to explain herself and apologise.<br/>Set some time post-2x05. Hurt/comfort.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Brick by Brick

This fic stands alone but may also work with [A Thousand Words](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7218796), which is Fitz-centric & involves Fitz' disability more explicitly.-

_-_

_Brick by brick, we can build it from the floor,_  
_If we hold onto each other we'll be better than before._

-

“- AND YOU’RE A SELFISH, STUBBORN,  _STUPID_ -“

The word flies out of her mouth like just another bullet from a gun. She sucks air in, as if to call it back, and covers her mouth with her hands, but it only serves to trap the word between them. To his credit, Fitz takes the hit well, but even the slightest change in the shape of his eyes, the hitch of his voice, is enough for Simmons to know that the tsunami of guilt that sweeps through her is well deserved.

“Excuse me,” Fitz chokes, turning on his heels and making his escape before Simmons can get out another word.

Pathetic, pleading, she turns to face the others. Their eyes are cold, and it feels like leaving all over again.

“I didn’t-“ Her words quiver, knowing they have no strength. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

All at once, Mack’s waving arms, Hunter’s pointing fingers, Skye’s leapt off the bench.

“How d’you expect him to trust anyone if –“

“No bloody tact, scientists, honestly -“

“’Didn’t mean it like that’? Like what? Like when you said aliens-“

“Hey.”

It’s quiet, like a hand on the shoulder. It’s only for Simmons. But the others stop yelling. It’s bitter, selfish relief that makes the tears finally begin to well, and it’s so hard to swallow them back that Simmons can barely speak. May’s eyes are fixed on her with such protectiveness that Simmons wonders for a moment whether she’s about to be impaled on her own rib, or given a four-hour-long hug.

As usual with May, she gets neither, and both.

“What did you mean?”

“I- I-“ Simmons sniffs. “I’m sorry?”

May nods toward the door, where Fitz just made his exit.

“You can’t explain yourself to anyone until you know how you feel. So work it out. Go.”

Simmons looks over the other faces, who are reconsidering their leap to hostility, but are far from sympathetic. Her mind flickers past  _she can’t blame them_ , to  _they’re not important right now_. Elimination of variables. How very Science of her. Strangely inspired – and for the moment, uplifted – she slips into the hall.

—

Fitz paces the garage, wiping the tears from his face like from a windscreen in a storm. They keep coming, but it doesn’t hurt as much as he thought it would. He supposes that’s because he’s already dealt with the pain. He’s already suspected – wholeheartedly known – what Simmons thought, and endured the hurt and the betrayal the thought, the knowledge, had evoked. All that was left by the time his fears were confirmed, then, was the twisted satisfaction of having predicted his own pain. How very Science of him.

There’s a knock at the door, and Fitz hopes it’s Skye. He could really use a hug right now and Mack’s never been into them. But he turns and sees Simmons, and it’s the first time he’s set eyes on her since that first day at the Academy, that the sight of her beautiful face makes his heart sink in his chest.

“Fitz…I’m sorry.”

He turns away. Her soft eyes plead with him for something – to be better? Breathing is too easy now. This should hurt more. It should feel like his internal organs are being eaten by crows. Like his heart is being slowly consumed by acid. His worst fears are being confirmed. They’re finally, officially, breaking. He should feel something. Why doesn’t this hurt?

“Jemma, I understand.” His words barely shake.

“No, you don’t.” She chases his vision, and when she creeps back into the frame he can feel it. His lungs fill with something that burns, and he has to turn away again. This time she doesn’t chase, and his breathing steadies as he hears her take a seat on a crate. He can feel her in the room. He’s tempted to look, but he knows he has to stave this off for as long as possible. As soon as he looks, it’s going to break down again and they’re going to be swamped by emotions and if they’re lucky they’ll end up back where they were a minute ago, ready to rip each other’s throats out.

“I don’t expect your forgiveness or anything,” Simmons clarifies. She wonders if Fitz can feel her eyes on him, wanting him to turn to her, so she lowers her gaze to help him resist the temptation of looking. “I just want you to let me explain myself, properly and until I’m finished. Can you do that?”

Preparing himself for the strange serenity of hearing her out without looking, he nods for her to continue.

“Okay. Well. First of all, I knew that, scientifically, what happened to you wouldn’t make you any less smart. But a disability like this, Fitz, I mean – well, it’s distracting. It means you need more brainpower to make a simple sentence, and more emotional control to deal with the frustrations of your own mind, let alone those of the external world. Does that make you less smart? No. Of course not. But it makes your intelligence less…available.”

“Available,” he repeats. “All of this being what you meant when you said-“

“Listen.”

He swallows the chill of his blood. She’s right. He promised. And he mustn’t engage, or they might as well throw the remaining shreds of their relationship out the window.

“Yes. Okay? Yes. That’s what I meant when I said stupid. That and…well…communicating your ideas is an important part of having them. You could be the smartest person in the world but if you can’t get your ideas out  _somehow,_ there’s no point –  _which_  by the way, is one of  _many_  reasons why I’m glad to see the progress you’ve made with your speaking, and with Mack, and reconnecting with the team. I am proud of you –  _so proud_  of you – and no matter what happens between us, or where this all goes, I want you to know that, okay?”

Deep breaths, no emotions, save it for later. He nods. She sighs. It’s something, at least. Some part of Fitzsimmons that will survive all this.

“Remember that time you shouted at me about how I thought you were useless? I didn’t defend myself - I  _couldn’t_ defend myself. I wondered, how could you ever think I would do that? But then I got to thinking,  _would_ I ever do that?

“I thought long and hard about how I felt and what I wanted to say, if I ever got the chance. I went around in circles, for the most part. I kept coming back to – what does it matter? If Fitz is not smart, he’s still funny, he’s still brave, he’s still kind, he’s still  _Fitz_ , right? Grey matter, neural connections, grades, big words – that stuff doesn’t matter!

"But it does. Not the grades or the big words, but... no matter how many times we say it doesn't matter, or how much we honestly want it not to, what happened to you will always matter between us. It will always mean things are different. Somehow. In  _some_  way. We have both changed, and yes, it’s hard for me to face that. And I know that your injury is not the only thing about you that’s different, but it’s an inseparable part of you now. If it wasn’t, I don’t think you’d be so defensive about it being cured. It  _means_ something to you, and I never wanted to belittle that or take it away from you.

"You’ve got to remember, Fitz, that when I left, you wanted help. I’d have done anything to give it to you, in fact that’s  _why_  I left. You were begging me to fix you, to find something. Medication, therapy, hours upon hours of practice…You were torturing yourself. When I came back, you didn’t explain to me how you’d changed your opinion. That’s not all your fault. A few months ago, maybe, before all this, I would have just  _known_. I suppose I should have observed myself, but I was proud and hurt and jealous and things were so antagonistic between us that I had to fight to have my voice heard. I’m not used to fighting to speak to you. I don’t like it. I wish you’d had enough faith in me to let me explain myself, but I see now why you didn’t have that faith, and I’m sorry for that.

"And I’m sorry for leaving, and for lying. And I’m sorry for the things that I thought about you, and the fact that I still see you as a person to fix. I want you to know that I’m working on it, but I can’t promise it’s going to be easy. I’m a doctor. I see this in... in medical terms. I need to see you as a person again. As a friend. I need you to keep proving me wrong. Do you think you can do that?”


End file.
